


Akemi's Nutcracker

by MeowMix0131



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeowMix0131/pseuds/MeowMix0131
Summary: Homura uses her break to release exhaustion and misery, but is unaware of the consequences. What will this mean for Homura,  Madoka,  and the universe written twice over?
Relationships: Akemi Homura/Kaname Madoka
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

A feathered figure continues strolling in a moonlit field of spider lilies, heels clacking along the cold stone pathway. Trailing behind her were the other fourteen Clara dolls, carrying lighted pitchforks, pretending to cry to liven up their Good-for-Nothing mother’s funeral procession. Her raven-like wings trailed behind with the kind of grace a dead body has; technically, as the demon’s soul was no longer inside her body, the description was apt for her. The lilies swayed in soft wind that smelled of salty tears that fell as rain inside this pocket dimension, this witch labyrinth of hers whenever it wasn’t on fire. The skip in Good-for-Nothing’s step didn’t go unnoticed by her funeral procession, and loud, taunting faked wails and sobs permeated the precious time the demon once named Homura had to herself between her labor maintaining her universe.

Time outside the labyrinth was frozen in a timestop reminiscent of Homura’s time as a magical girl, of course. The new deity replacing Madoka as the law of cycles couldn’t afford to waste time that needed to be spent collecting the blackened Soul Gems of magical girls and keeping this universe stable. Staving off memories of Madoka’s world in the minds of those she returned from the reaped was surprisingly difficult, especially considering her complete control over the universe she rewrote. With a sigh, Homura once again squashed fantasies of erasing bothersome Sayaka Miki and Mami Tomoe, reminding herself that Madoka would be happiest with her friends alongside her, living the normal, happy life of a human girl. The whole point of this, after all, was to give Madoka the happiness that Homura herself had thrown away in exchange for a wish all those lifetimes ago. The thought also prompted her to get to the point of her little break before her hold on the timestop broke and Madoka could be given the opportunity to sell her soul for a wish in a contract with the Incubator. Her power, after all, came from Madoka and was therefore not limitless, despite her control over the dimension.

The Clara Dolls, irritated by her slow pace and drifting thoughts, began to trip Homura along her path. The familiars very nearly managed to shove her into the black wooden coffin they carried, but the demon snapped back into her reality in time to regain her balance. Pleased by the thought of what lay ahead of the blooming blood-red spider lilies, the demon dashed across the field and off of her path, shoes dropping along her way. As Homura’s socked feet sunk into the soft earth clad with grass and flowers, her passing triggered previously hidden dandelions to whisk along in the wind, dancing to a melody of their own along the inky black sky. The deity held her breath and her longing, exhausted form in front of the scene to set the stage for a long suffering, punctual performance. As burgundy, white laced curtains rose and the projector began filming, Homura found her long awaited release at last.

A melancholic, quiet, drifting melody began to play softly in what could only be a scene in a ballet. A ruined skeleton of what was once a blimp flew impossibly over head, traced of the violent flames that had consumed it still flaring brightly alongside the moon and city lights. Homura allowed the flames to consume her as well while a broken city skyline seemingly cut out of paper and plastered on concrete rose out of the ground. Nutcrackers in her magical girl form dance along with the demon in perfect, choreographed unison as giant teeth whizz by and chew on their lances. The time has arrived for the main act.

Homura Akemi begins her depressing ballet.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madoka herself has plenty on her mind, and a certain brunette dances through many of them...

Madoka Kaname is impossibly suspended in the air, caught dashing to Homura’s apartment in the shabbier part of Mitakihara City. Unaware of the hour she had spent frozen, the captured thought within her mind was of finagling some information out of the lithe, raven-haired girl who snapped her back to reality a week ago at school. She was still curious about the strange shock that had befallen her on the tour through the school, and how Homura had known just what to say to her. Madoka considered it one of the smaller of many mysteries surrounding her classmate, however, and was much more interested in what kind of person she was. From the day she arrived in Mitakihara Middle School, Madoka had quickly learned of Homura’s ridiculous proficiency in every subject. Whenever she was called to the board in Algebra, regardless of how many other students had been hopelessly stumped, she always produced the right answer quickly and efficiently as if she had written the intimidating problem herself. She seemed to be able to decipher the most complicated of syntax and grammar, her writing was always praised although upon request never shown, and Homura had proven herself a stellar athlete by breaking all the held school records in the gym class. Madoka was utterly confounded as to how a mere eighth-grader like herself had more prowess than any fourteen year old in an unremarkable public school had any right to.

More elusive, however, was how despite the way Homura entertained every student in the school and all knew and chattered endlessly about her was that she apparently had never had any friends in all her time there. Madoka would have believed it was because of the rampant rumors featuring Homura doing everything from jumping from buildings to outsmarting the science teacher to making furniture appear out of thin air, but Homura blatantly had no problem with them, engaging in even the most vapid of gossip when solicited and refusing to even deny the outrageous hearsay. When confronted, she simply said she had no need for companions and she resolved the accusations of cheating in school among other things with a dismissive flip of her waist long hair. No matter which angle you looked at the conundrum from, Akemi Homura, the girl who excelled in everything and had captured the whole student body’s interest, had no desire for social connections. 

With the exception of Madoka, however absolutely insane that was, for some ungodly reason.

The biggest puzzle that Madoka had endeavored to solve when she began her trek across the city by following Homura home was how in the world she was supposedly worth the near-perfect student’s time, and why she cared to give it in the first place. Madoka knew she was painfully average; although Homura often complemented her performance in school and her personality, the pink haired girl couldn’t possibly see what about her was so special that she merited such praise from someone who was far more deserving of it than herself. Homura could have had her pick of friends from any grade, almost all of them much more interesting than plain Madoka, but for some reason, the lilac-eyed girl’s interest had focused itself on possibly the most average, pointless person in the school. The slightly more pessimistic corner of the pinkette’s mind wondered if it was precisely how boring she was that had caught her attention, but based on how easily she dismissed the prospect of initiating friendships with anyone else and how efficient she was in everything she did, Madoka had quickly buried the prospect. After all, she cherished Homura’s simple but pleasant companionship, despite how undeserved it was. Madoka was completely befuddled, however, by what sharp, simple, pleasant Homura even cared so much about her. Just before being frozen in time, Madoka had tried to run through a list of her qualities in an attempt to demystify Homura’s friendship with her.

Madoka didn’t think herself very beautiful; her complex that she was just a taller elementary schooler plagued her mind and brought an inch of shame to her expression. Her pink eyes were rather dull and had unremarkable watery color in her opinion, and her hair only went to her shoulders. She believed she had little in the way of a figure, compared to Hitomi, Sayaka, and other girls who had developed more than she had. The pinkette mentally scratched that off the list; if Homura was interested in having a pretty friend, then she would’ve been better off mingling with someone else. After all, someone with such pretty black hair, deep purple eyes, and athletic body couldn’t have such a terrible eye for beauty to mistake ordinary Madoka for the nicest looking girl in school. There had to be a better reason.

Madoka’s grades were all average too, and she didn’t think she was very smart. She had been told by Homura that she was very smart with people when she managed to quickly resolve a dispute by appeasing both sides and helping them see the other’s point of view in between classes, but Madoka didn’t believe her. Not because Homura was a liar, no, but because of her disinterest and resulting inexperience with people. Madoka was sure that if Homura talked to more people, she would have been able to handle the situation many times better than her, although she also thought that simply breaking up a hallway dispute as she had done was nothing special. The difference between the intelligence of someone as amazing as Homura and her own plain self. In English, Madoka could barely remember yesterday’s lecture while Homura dutifully retrieved all the necessary information for the midterms spanning lessons from the beginning of the year with ease. When given a project, Madoka struggled to maneuver the situation while Homura vaulted around it like it was natural for her to solve such problems. The very confused girl crossed that off her mental list too.

Next was Madoka’s social skills. The frozen girl had woefully recalled how insecure and shy she was, and how she had never been able to make any friends outside of Sayaka and Hitomi in her life before Homura came along. She constantly tripped over her words, her articulation was garbage, and could hardly ever muster the courage to talk to new people in a personal manner. She couldn’t see how Homura might’ve found her confidence or approachability appealing, because in her eyes, she had none. Pity was out of the question as well, since Homura had shown only the polite, necessary amount of sympathy for other students with poor social skills, and seemed to only have eyes for Madoka. The pink haired girl saw no possibility of her relatability to other teenagers drawing Homura in. Madoka crossed that off the mental list as well.

An almost impossibility that was still considered in an attempt to be thorough in unraveling the phenomenon was that Madoka’ s athleticism had lured Homura’ s interest. Madoka was short and weak, possibly the squishiest person in gym, and hardly manages to scrape through the class by the skin of her teeth. The pinkette’s face had grown hot with embarrassment as she recalled how horribly she had failed the pole vaulting and track units that Homura had breezed through like nobody’s business. Gym was the one class where even Sayaka did better than her, the one less-than-average grade she had, and her most hated class. It was the one area where it wouldn’t do to say she was simply the norm; the only fitting description was that of failure. The only unit she had ever excelled in, much to Madoka’s surprise, was archery. Given her ineptitude was little of a potential attraction to Homura, a stellar athlete by comparison, Madoka practically ripped that item off her mental list.

The only thing left to consider was Madoka’s personality.

At this realization, Madoka had been utterly confounded. Homura had so many interesting people eagle-eyeing her that it made little sense why she would care to spend time with a total wallflower. As she had pondered this dilemma, several complements aimed at what kind of person she was drifted into her mind to try and establish some basis for an otherwise stupidly random occurrence. “I swear you’re so nice you’d save the person who pushed you down a cliff and happened to fall with you!” from Sayaka, “Your sensitivity to others and compassion for everyone is very valuable.” is something she’d heard from classmates, teachers, and her family many times despite her confusion as to what was so special about her to warrant it, and “You’re the kindest, most compassionate, brave person I’ve ever met.” from Homura herself a few days ago. Madoka’ s mind had been reeling for an explanation, a dismissal of these statements for days to come.

Madoka had come to terms with the fact that she was nothing if not normal, that she would never amount to anything special. Most people didn’t, after all. Like the average person, Madoka knew she wasn’t especially smart, strong, or attractive, and that she had no special talents or dreams to pursue. After all, without odds, without averages and people who existed just to be a statistic and leave behind another generation to repeat the cycle, the truly special people like Kyosuke and Homura wouldn’t stand out, wouldn’t get the attention they deserved for doing whatever they did better than usual. Madoka’s only strong desire to pursue, however, was simply to help people and make them happy any way she could. So she always did her best to be optimistic and empathetic, which admittedly came easily, in an effort to leave everyone she came across with a smile on their faces, to encourage them to pursue their dreams. Indeed, one of the highlights she’d had since moving here was that she managed to convince Homura that her grades were worth celebrating, and had made her crack a rare, small smile with an offer to get to know each other at the local arcade. It was then Homura had paid her such a generous compliment, which simply highlighted said brunette’s manners and kindness instead of Madoka’s own, and kickstarted her intense dedication towards being Madoka’s best friend. Madoka’s thought had gingerly touched for a second on how dedicated and determined Homura was in everything she did, and her sharp attention to detail she had noticed at school.

Even so, Homura herself proved to be far more entrancing of a person than Madoka’s attempts to be kind were. She possessed an air of stoicism and focus that projected the dignity and wariness of a trained, battle hardened soldier for which the cause Madoka could never pinpoint. Her careful tracking of seemingly everything that was going on around her was very nuanced such that only those shamefully eyeing her like Madoka had done from a distance out of curiosity could notice, though once you notice the signs, it was very plainly there. Little things like her pupils darting to every corner of a room before entering, startling at the smallest sudden change that triggered a slightly widened, stiff stance expecting a fight for the half second before she registered that she was in no danger, reluctance to allow anyone except Madoka touch her or walk behind her, going to such lengths as to make sure she was always the last to exit the school all signalled the presence of a carefully hidden but evidently deep distrust of her surroundings. Surrounding she took great pains to monitor especially closely when Madoka was there, the pinkette had noticed. Homura kept close to Madoka, inching to close distance in public, only really relaxing and putting it back, more than necessary, more than normal when they were alone. Madoka had taken note of the strange limbo they followed; Homura would cautiously float closer to her, but when the throng of the student body passed, and she apparently noticed with shame that she had come nearer to Madoka, the violet-eyed girl quickly dashed away again without ever truly leaving Madoka’s side. It was as if she was tied down to her, or if she was a cat that left to roam when the owner was home, but would stride by closely like a guard in the streets with their human. Even so, the cat always managed to find their way home in the end, to repeat the cycle the next day.

Homura’s silence also seemed to wash over Madoka, like her every pause in speech spoke endlessly in the pinkette’s ears. While her expression was almost always neutral, shuttered reactions like a glint in her eye or a twitch of her mouth often screamed just enough about her thoughts to set Madoka’s own gears whirring in the absence of speech. She said every word she did voice quietly with a finality that suggested that whatever she said on a subject was her final opinion. She spoke simply yet elegantly, reflecting a general disregard for unearned formalities, yet still managed to be almost painfully polite most of the time. The few times where Sayaka has acted rudely and confrontationally towards her, though honestly it was only rare because both disliked each other enough to stay away from one another whenever possible, she had shown a quick wit and her dignified, poised sass that was both awesome and frustrating. In almost all other situations the raven-haired girl had been absurdly logical to the point of showing little awareness of social niceties in favor of an efficient, mechanical way of handling things, without contradicting her consideration for every party involved or the delicate balance she maintained between the information and cooperation those around her were allotted and the secretive ponderings she kept very close to her heart, which no one ever got a personal peek into. Madoka was absorbed completely in every subtlety and intricacy of the teen’s behavior, regardless of how aware she was of the glaring fact that she hadn’t known her that long and that Homura’s business was technically none of her own. She felt like a detective who had been puzzling over the world’s most pressing mystery for years and had finally been shown a clue, a glimpse into the answer to all of her questions.

Which brought her to right now, two hours of Homura’s dancing having passed somewhere far away without her knowledge, frozen in the middle of her pattering feet and stewing thoughts, led back around in a u-turn to the question of why in the world Homura cared for her so much. Homura herself reappears in her school uniform in exactly the same spot she had been walking home, exhausted yet refreshed, for once feeling like the universe was right with her. As she released the time spot, she briskly walked home, already pondering the most secure way to resume her gargantuan task. Madoka stops to catch her breath behind Homura for long enough to see where she’s walking, and settles for shoving those thoughts back into the recesses of her brain and focusing on her excuse for following the ironically oblivious student.

Assured that Homura is a good ways ahead of her, Madoka dashes down the street even faster and turns a corner in the most crucial juncture in Mitakihara City, resolving to answer her questions, and for once not give up and go home.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shenanigans on the street...

The tea kettle shrieked a shrill whistle as Homura abandoned her empty kitchen in favor of attending to light, shy knocks at her chained, bolted, and otherwise secured and uninviting door. Despite her rational side chiding her with the reminder that nothing she didn’t will exists within this world, she couldn’t dispel the anxiety that some other magical girl had come to shatter her. She was acutely aware even now of how despised she was in later timelines as memories of many attempts to kill her flooded her conscious thought. Decades of practice had come with advantages, however, and she steeled herself for whatever lay outside her door in a rehearsed manner, calm exterior never changing at all. With a completely unnecessary breath to collect herself, she twisted the doorknob and thrust the door open, unwilling to cower from the one outside.

Her worry was just as unneeded as the breathing, though , since the one knocking happened to be a certain, painfully familiar pink-haired girl, tapping her fingers in front of her chest with downcast eyes in embarrassment that almost broke Homura’s cool exterior in the name of comforting her. 

Madoka’s mind was no more still than her fingers, as the only sensible tidbit of her mind suddenly swelled and screamed at her in the language of every possible way this could backfire. She could get scared and back away, or get angry. It’s not like the unsuspecting raven-haired girl didn’t have a right to dump Madoka after the incredibly creepy stunt she just pulled. Even her thoughts, referring to poor Homura as some intricate puzzle that was hers to figure out was creepy! She could see the image of Homura screwing up her face in shock right before slamming the door in her face, disregarding all of Madoka’s poorly stammered excuses perfectly behind her eyes. Why did she practically stalk the girl home?? Why did she feel such a need to figure her out?? WHY DID I THINK ANY OF THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA???!??!?!?!?

Madoka’s face suddenly echoed the shock she expected Homura to have when the violet-eyed girl’s face seemed to lift, demeanor rising with a simple “Oh, hello Madoka.” , and pushed the door open, moving out of the way for Madoka to step through like it hadn’t disturbed her at all that Homura had never given Madoka her address. 

“E-eh? Ah, I’m sorry, this must be so sudden and creepy…” Madoka was suddenly confronted with the fact that she had absolutely no idea what to say to the girl once she arrived at her house. The pinkette cursed her stuttering voice and mind and dragged all of her brain through a grinder in an attempt to figure out something polite to say. Even though she was aware that the best thing to do would be to excuse herself and leave to avoid wasting Homura’s time she likely spent studying, Madoka couldn’t bring herself to leave. She was once more trapped within the girl gluing her to Homura’s apartment door, swimming in every detail and sinking towards all of the questions she wanted answered. “Did you have any plans for today?”

“No”, Homura replied simply, yet the ghost of a twitching lip whispered happiness into her expression that gave away that she had wanted to see Madoka, much to the other girl’s surprise. “Do you?”

“No,” Madoka started, immersed in a sudden moment of clarity. She knew the perfect place to take Homura to get closer to the girl without prying nosily. The field behind the park was somewhere she had spent hours with Sayaka gossiping and sharing their deepest secrets, getting to know each other better than anyone over not much time before she moved to America. The swaying grass seemed to have a magic compelling even the strongest of stonewalls to crumble in an instant. It had to work. “I-if you don’t have anything else to do, would you like to go for a walk?”

“Yes, of course.” Homura agreed in a millisecond, her previous weariness dissipating in the face of a contented-looking, excited Madoka. The second the rose-eyed girl had walked in, Homura had been hypnotised, unable to look away despite her better judgement telling her she probably looked creepy. Even though Madoka likely thought of her as a mere stranger, Homura knew almost everything about Madoka, and thought every little piece perfect. It was her she had sacrificed her soul, dozens of years, and ultimately the universe for. Even now, when she barely knew her and her impulses had probably made her come off as overbearing and strange, she was willing to put it all aside and go through the effort of following her home. She had seen the pink-haired girl face Walpurgis as she demolished her city, willing to die fighting if it meant she had a chance to protect those she loved. She had witnessed her extend a helping hand to Kyouko despite trying to kill Sayaka in every single timeline in which she appeared, and in her early runs, even when what she said about Kyubey must have sounded like utter lies, she was the only one out of the group of magical girls to not only try and believe her, but empathise with what she had needed to go through to know the things she told her. Madoka had saved her life instead of her own while only asking Homura to try, try to save her in return, and even as a witch, all she wanted was to end suffering for everyone. She had stood powerless as she watched Madoka sacrifice her own existence to save every magical girl that ever was, regardless of how stupid or selfish or cruel or futile their wish was, with no fear for herself. In Homura’s eyes, despite her human form and human memories, Madoka was no less of a goddess, and despite her stoic expression, Homura was elated to do anything Madoka could want. Homura was no less her soldier, no less her friend, despite the passage of time. Her work could wait eons and she would never notice or care, as long as she could protect Madoka. The world could end around her and she could never focus on anything except Madoka’s safety, even now. 

Yet, the moment she agreed, a flood of complications hit Homura like a brick. She had acted on impulse, and her impulses had consequences. Her absence would cause a backlog of her work, and the universe was fickle in its workings. She could get behind on her schoolwork, and break the perfect, non-magical appearance she kept up to avoid suspicion from the school. And simple, fixable things like those were the least of her worries. How could she not look ridiculous while agreeing to a random invite to a currently non existing location? Was she coming off wrong? Did Madoka suspect anything? Was she mad? Homura could not allow this universe for Madoka to be torn down, not even by Madoka herself. She couldn’t bear the thought of her toiling endlessly the way she did, all while she was left on Earth going slowly insane. She couldn’t accept her relinquishing her humanity, with no guarantee of her safety. Homura was supposed to suffer in her place, and nothing so vile as eternal slavery, or the pain and suffering of existence as a magical girl was ever meant to marr her happy, human life. Homura had given up everything to protect the person she loved most on this formerly miserable planet, and she would never allow Madoka to bear the weight of struggling to survive, or the pull of servitude to the universe again. Would never let her fall into despair so deep it clawed her into the clutches of death. Would never let her screams of sorrow echo through a barren wasteland again. Homura’s fists clenched slightly to prepare for a hypothetical fight, or at least, that’s what she told herself to conceal the more emotional piece of her that refused to drag itself out of a muddle of still aching memories. She weaved in closer to Madoka, yearning to defend her against any peril that may find itself in her path, then snapped back to reality once she realized that the more pressing issue was that evil like her, which had stomped over her desire to help others that had kept her alive in the first place wasn’t supposed to be near Madoka anyways. She couldn’t tell her anything; she couldn’t even guarantee that her impulsive nature wouldn’t hurt Madoka. Thoughts setting themselves back into shame and duty like sediment into rock, she hurried as far from Madoka as possible while still walking with her, as if her mere presence was a danger to Madoka.

Madoka herself watched closely, trying not to stalk yet failing pretty badly, as far as the fact that her eyes followed Homura so much that she often walked to the wrong place despite that she should be leading the raven-haired girl was any indicator. She felt herself panic as she watched Homura’s face slowly grow more downcast, and her mind started scrambling for some way to aid her mood in a way she couldn’t bring herself to care was much more fitting of someone she had known for years than someone she had met a week ago. “Did you remember you had to do something?...I’d be happy to help you, if that’s the case...only if you want to, of course.” Madoka quickly muttered the last part, remembering how clingy she was being and that how interesting Homura was didn’t give her an excuse to hound her life. Homura’s violet eyes sped up to her own and bored straight into her soul for what was likely half a second but in Madoka’s desperate haste for any peep out of the girl felt like an eternity. After a moment of complete confusion which was probably the most obvious expression Madoka had ever seen on the brunette’s face, she responded with the ghost of a surprised whisper. “Yes, I’d like that…”

Almost as soon as it was said, two separate wars that became more and more far removed from what either of the girls had said as seconds passed raged violently against their skulls. Homura was dumbfounded; she had probably done the most freaky thing for a supposedly well mannered fourteen year old girl to do, yet Madoka had extended further invitation catering to what she assumed Homura’s needs were! How many more compassion bombshells will she throw at me? Will I keep getting them to the face for as long as I live?? Her plans of staying as alienated from Madoka as possible were utterly demolished; she was now too invested in Madoka and Madoka in her to rudely brush off her consideration, and because of Madoka’s power, Homura was unable to rewrite her again. She resolved to suck in a breath and turn around, turning the street corner to her apartment in a fit of embarrassment at being swamped by someone else’s kind gesture like the shy, anxious eight year old she had once been long ago.

Madoka herself felt as in a tornado, mind spinning at what the results of her actions would give her. The pinkette had somehow managed to stumble into personally witnessing part of Homura’s life, as well as getting a general idea of what she did every day and getting to strike up conversation without seeming awkward. She had stammered her way into the jackpot! The satisfaction of both a detective on the cusp of solving a huge case for good and of that once small, even more socially inept child she had once been finally getting a new friend like she had with Sayaka and Hitomi almost blew her straight off her feet. Now, if only I could figure out how to worm out words conveying my questions...aaaaaaand there went her foolproof plan. She got a sense of deja vu, as another moment of clarity came down from the heavens and touched the sad remains of her voice of reason, and she buckled up all of herself, deciding to simply open up and share everything as she hoped Homura would do, and skipped off after her, turning the corner to Homura’s apartment.


	4. Part 4

The sound of their steps on sidewalk set pace to the gears turning inside Homura’s mind and Soul Orb, hanging safely as an earring, obscured from view by her hair. She would somehow, in the five minutes it would take to walk back to her apartment complex and climb the stairs, come up with something reasonable for Madoka to do with her. She supposed she could put off her larger duties, but dragging all the work she had to do further down the line than she already did studying to convey the appearance of a middle schooler with plans for the future would be suicidal, quite literally. Much like a Soul Gem, her status as a deity depended on her maintaining this universe and cleaning the Soul Gems of too far gone magical girls as the Law of Cycles to exist, and her Soul Orb, the core of her being, required the despair of girls who would become witches one second later as fuel. She gnawed on her lip as she remembered the worrisome fact that if she ran out of fuel, she could no longer maintain the world they lived in. When it crashed down, it would take her with it, and Madoka would be left alone again to work endlessly rebuilding her own and taking the resulting magical girls. It was a fate she would not, could not allow.

So mundane schoolwork was out for sure; but which of her duties could she possibly have Madoka help her with? Not only would she reveal her true identity, but Madoka would surely ask why she bothered with such monumental tasks anyways. Madoka was nowhere near stupid, no matter how frustrating it was that she believed herself to be; she had excellent intuition for dealing with people, had made most of the battle strategy to take down Walpurgis alongside Mami in earlier timelines where she remained a magical girl, and had been able to understand the Incubator’s system well enough to use their own loophole to rework it to her liking. Homura could ask her aid in helping with building-like blueprints for the universe, but no doubt a fourteen year old girl volunteering for the role of lead architect of large stretches of land would be immensely suspicious. Aside from sweeping away Incubator “litter” and suppressing her own memories, there was little plausible activities for Madoka to aid her. Homura still had a difficult time believing that Madoka was willing to help a literal stranger, despite having seen Madoka’s unflinching kindness with her own dulled eyes many times before.

Maybe schoolwork wasn’t such a bad idea. No matter how much Homura shoved away her needs, told herself she didn’t want it, didn’t deserve it, she yearned for Madoka. Her body and mind longed to do something mindless, to stop worrying for however long it could. Her Soul Orb glinted just the slightest bit brighter whenever she was around Madoka, her very best friend, and every second with her wandered into a treasure trove of memories she flashed through her mind whenever despair threatened to overwhelm her. Through all these years, all these painful timelines, Madoka was the glue that held her cracked shell and splattered insides together. For Madoka, she had always reminded herself, Madoka needs you. Don’t give up, Madoka needs you. The thought of doing homework with Madoka, helping her through English and pondering over math together like simple schoolgirls bound her emotions together even now. Maybe she could show Madoka her glasses, she wondered. Maybe this time, no matter how undeserving she was, no matter how much she knew it would hurt her to have to lie through her teeth to Madoka, they could be friends again. 

Excitement renewed, she ran down the street and hopped up the stairs.

Madoka struggled to keep up with the raven-haired girl, and her thoughts immediately latched on to just how much of a drag she would be to Homura’s studies with new vigour, mind flashing through various scenarios of confusion for her and exasperation for Homura faster than she could run. She would bumble through English and Math, and while she was unsure what level of different her work for those classes were (after all, she was only in Madoka’s class for social reasons, as she took her lectures and classwork for all her classes online given her high level…), she knew for a fact that Madoka’s work was several grades behind Homura’s in science. Maybe she was planning to give Madoka practice in tedious operations while giving her a crash course in more advanced concepts? Was she intending to help Madoka instead of the other way around? Was she too shocked to articulate it properly so she just agreed to what Madoka had already proposed? A new thought ate away at her once she realised what that entailed. Homura had said that she didn’t have any interest in conversing with others, but when this idea coupled with the fact that Homura pursued Madoka endlessly...did the girl simply not know how to make friends with others? Homura engaged in gossip when approached, but never sought out people; was she wary of them? Anxious? Was that why she was always on edge in public? Madoka felt a pang of sympathy, knowing herself how crippling shyness could be. If Homura was too scared to make any friends and resorted to hovering over the new girl in an honestly sad attempt to form a personal connection, then she would just have to be the friend she needed. It didn’t matter how uncomfortable she would be dwarfed by Homura’s schoolwork; the one thing she was proud she could give without fail was good company anyway.

Neither girl noticed a furry white bunny-cat creature with beady red eyes staring from behind a potted plant.

Homura flung the sad wooden door open once more and dashed to get her Algebra homework. Her face was still set into blank shock, but Madoka noticed her -vibrating?- out of what she could only guess was either excitement or nervousness. The multitude of textbooks were gracefully plopped onto a small white table, and Homura, chastising herself for her recent lack of manners around Madoka, pulled out a chair for herself and Madoka. The pinkette sat down gleefully, happy to be both nosing and helping at the same time. Madoka immediately remembered her half-baked theory about Homura’s lack of conversation skills and determined that it was a good time to engage her in busywork so that they could talk to each other. The thought of not only getting closer to her but also actually helping her and being useful filled her with pride and joy that she knew was scarce. “What math problems do you have”? 

Homura eased when she realised that Madoka wasn’t uncomfortable and that the scene she made hadn’t compromised reputation she struggled enough to uphold already. Now that she had decided that she was going to be friends with Madoka (again), she absolutely could not allow herself to fail royally like she had in past timelines.She knew enough about Madoka to know that scaring her was a horrible idea, and that ignoring her would feed her sense of worthlessness and facilitate a contract with Kyubey. She stifled a small sarcastic laugh at her immediate rationalisation of her actions to exclude her own desires even after having literally become the embodiment of selfishness. Of course, there would still have to be some distance between them, but now that Madoka was in her house and very obviously determined to be her study buddy whether she liked it or not, there was no point in alienating her. She relaxed unconsciously at the confusing, weird greatness of this whole debacle, as if the universe had granted her a small gift that she had been waiting for longer than she could remember. Of course, it had in the form of Madoka not being really weirded out by her crazy behaviour unbecoming of a straight-A student. Madoka would be open and kind like she always was, and Homura definitely wouldn’t go ham on her and was surely going to act like a normal human being making a friend and not a lunatic who belonged in an asylum.

Or at the very least, she would try her best for Madoka’s sake.

“I have problems 20-38 to do. How about you?”. Homura knew enough about math from wrangling city-wide battle strategy, inventory keeping, and navigating the physics of magic bullets and rocket-propelled grenades. Even when she golfed to kill witches years ago, there were complex equations involved to ensure defeat of the witch. Truthfully, she could do all of the problems the teacher had assigned her asleep, but that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was Madoka, and she had offered to help, and Homura would make sure her time wasn’t wasted on a sack of trash like her. She would make sure Madoka knew that at the very least, she could come to this sack of trash for math help.

“I have 16 problems of Pre-Algebra; it’s linear equations.” The pinkette grew bashful as linear equations must sound like preschool homework compared to what she had. She shook her head slightly and tried to focus on what she could snoop at the moment. Hmura had a very nice apartment; it felt bigger inside than out, the walls were white, and the weird sofa chairs both fit the aesthetic and were comfortable. However, as the clock ticking in the background set rhythm to her thoughts, something became glaringly obvious; Homura lived both very quietly and very much alone. She could only see a door to one bedroom, the other room being a kitchen, and because she had stayed at school talking to Sayaka and waiting for Homura to leave, it was now well past five in the afternoon, when work for adults usually let out. Madoka remembered her own mother came home from work late, though-and hadn’t she been talking about a new employee at her company? Since Madoka was still snooping and wanted Homura to feel more comfortable opening up about her life, she decided that popping the question wasn’t a horrible idea. “Do you live alone?”

“Yes.”, Homura answered. Her finger twitched in cautious deliberation, a detail Madoka didn’t fail to notice, she could tell; depending on how much Madoka pried, she would have to construct a plausible half-truth - she refused to outright lie - to disguise the entirety of her extraordinary and not exactly ethical circumstances. Despite her efforts to remind herself to stay at a reasonable distance, however, the corner of her lip lifted into a small smile, showing off her equally small joy that Madoka felt familiar enough with her where such a question wouldn’t be rude. She reached for Madoka’s book to find the problems, occupying her hands so that they wouldn’t give her away, though. Even in her foolishness, precautions were necessary, Homura knew.  
Madoka’s eyes widened slightly. Despite her deliberation on whether asking it was a good idea, she hadn’t really expected her hypothesis scrapped together in two minutes to be correct. In her surprise, and curiosity, all she could bring herself to say was, “Oh, why is that?” It added a new layer of mystery to the raven-haired girl’s life, and the idea of Homura having clawed her way to the top with no help bedazzled her. Soon after that though, it hit her how worrying it was that this already seemingly awkward teen girl lived completely alone. “Why is that?”  
Homura breathed a quiet sigh of relief and put off shrieking at herself for not holding it back until later. This question was much easier to answer than if Madoka had suspected her of something and asked what she did living alone or why she didn’t move to a group home or orphanage. After all, her fishy behaviour certainly wouldn’t have appeased her if Homura’s answer was the one she had received from Madoka had the violet eyed student asked. Of course, Homura knew Madoka didn’t live alone from going to her house in early timelines and monitoring her in later ones, but if Madoka had started acting suspiciously, to her disgrace, she couldn’t promise herself she wouldn’t try to find an albeit more appropriate way of fishing out the truth from her. Since the dilemma was avoided, however, and Madoka apparently suspected nothing, Homura simply answered her question honestly. “My parents died when I was very young, and I’ve been a ward of the state since I was two. Japan’s social services have paid for my sustenance and utilities since I was emancipated.” Homura found herself sharing more than necessary, and a wry smile crept up on her face. It appeared that no matter how their dynamics change, she will always jump at the opportunity to spill her soul to Madoka, even when she technically lacked one.

The pink-haired girl almost dropped her pencil that she had picked up to start on their work, although compared with the shocking info Homura seemed to have had no problem whatsoever imparting, Algebra looked very trivial. Madoka could never imagine her life without Mama and Papa and Tatsuya, and Japan’s child services were notoriously abhorrent. The shortcomings of that system had become worse over time, and to Madoka, Homura’s ability to keep going despite her dismal odds of success were even more astonishing to her. Madoka was awed that after what must have been a very traumatic situation for a two year old, she found the will to do her best. Madoka tried to imagine Homura the same age as Tatsuya, being dragged around by welfare officers and felt a pang of empathy, feeling herself wanting to push the subject. “What was that like? I can’t imagine how that must have felt…” Perhaps helping her voice her experiences would make her more confident, Madoka thought. Maybe I can help her by having her share something about herself.

“ I don’t remember my parents at all. My earliest memories were of my welfare agent...and the hospital..” Homura felt herself shrinking in on herself. She had despised the hospital, despised herself when she was ill. How could she not? She was weak and draining and inept, could never even bring herself to properly say thank you to her nurses. The sterile white walls had driven her mad, the heart monitor had taunted her every waking moment, reminding her how useless she was, how much she weighed on this world; how could she be confident in her existence with the knowledge that she needed hordes of people and machines to fret over her just to stay alive? The timelines had all fused into each other and compressed into who she was now, making it a little bit easier to work her thoughts on top of them, but her memories from before she transferred to Mitakihara Middle School had remained blurry and raw, stinging like a rotting, leaking sore. Like a child gingerly touching a new wound, Homura was very shy of scraping her mind down the gashes her early childhood had left her with, and despite her removal from those scars, she was still wary of them, unwilling to break down and burden Madoka with her pains. In her fear, she overlooked that she had confessed a hint to her time in the hospital.

Little did she know that her time bedridden were the least of the concerns Madoka had.

Little did Madoka know that Homura’s life was the least of Homura’s concern.

They would both learn.


	5. Part 5

“A-ah, really?” Madoka’s head spun. She wondered briefly just how many rabbit holes the life of the girl in front of her would lead her through. Not only tragedy, but illness?!? Through her immense befuddlement and empathy for the raven-haired girl, she felt the sharp sting of frustration cracking through her like a whip before she could suppress it. Why, with my perfectly good life, can’t I do something special, be worth existing for once? Why can’t I be worthwhile…? Just because she had accepted she would never amount to anything special doesn’t mean it didn’t bother her sometimes. She violently shoved that thought away the second she reined her mind back in, and sunk into guilt that she had resented Homura for her achievements despite what must have indubitably been a horrible situation to endure, even if just for a moment. Even so, she could feel her body going slack, and she was sure her face was beginning to resemble the visage of a rabbit. Her questions slammed back into her as she processed once more the irony of the most athletic person in school having needed to be at the hospital at one point long enough for it to be a significant portion of her early memories. As she tunneled through the logic that could explain this phenomenon, she craved the knowledge of her life both to comfort Homura and herself. “ What were you admitted for?”, Madoka asked sheepishly, unsure of whether or not it made sense to pry given how shy Homura had suddenly become about the subject. Her purpose here was to derive gossip and possibly help Homura with her social skills, and Madoka refused to let her nosy selfishness deprive Homura of a hopefully good enough friend. Madoka refused to give up, but she also refused to hurt the violet-eyed girl currently huddled into herself slightly like a frightened kitten.

“I-I was in and out of the hospital constantly a long time ago…” Homura spluttered out an answer before any scrap of common sense could beseech her once more. Not only did she not transfer to Mitakihara this time because it was close to the hospital she had had surgery at, but she had placed the events of her former life as a human much farther back in her life than fourteen, and any slip-up could cost her if Madoka decided to go the extra mile and ask the nurses at Mitakihara General Hospital what she liked. As she sat fidgeting, Homura fervently thanked the nagging chide in the back of her head that screeched the idea of keeping her former life in her story for exactly situations like this one where she would desperately need that thin protection from appearing completely insane. Her brains could scramble eggs within the haze she pounded through in a pitiful attempt at magically discovering the next best thing to say as she stammered broken wheezes, feeling as if she could roll into a ball and die right now from the bewildered expression Madoka held as her body froze in a slump, despite knowing it not physically possible, to her lament. Homura wailed internally as she finally settled on telling the truth as she whispered out “ I w-went in for ventricular fibrillation..” as she finally collapsed on her frame like a rag doll, bones barely holding her up. Homura pointedly declared to herself that she really needed to get better at this. That was sad.. I couldn’t even muster words in my head! What would she think of me now?.. Kyouko would laugh. I really am depressing…”

No sooner did the pinkette across from Homura dredge up the definition of the medical condition she had mentioned than Madoka started flipping. “ Isn’t that fatal??! Aren’t you supposed to not exert yourself?!” Madoka flailed her arms across the table despite her better manners in a flurried attempt to get her apparently life-saving point across. Anyone who paid attention during the health unit in gym knew that ventricular fibrillation was life-threatening and could cause cardiac arrest if aggravated or left untreated. Madoka panicked she recalled the menagerie of achievements she had earned in gym, and how if what she said was true, that almost everything she did put her in danger. Does she not see how much her life is worth? Is she that lonely that she would actively try to die?

“D-don’t worry! It was a long time ago! I had surgery for implantable defibrillators, so it’s not a problem anymore. You really don’t need to worry about me...I’m fine.” Homura quickly raised her hands in surrender, as if to protect herself from Madoka’s sympathies. At this point, the raven-haired girl was an open book; she had grown so attached to her that she had shared personal information yet again, and Madoka was very clearly concerned about her. There was no turning back now, and Homura was scared solid. How am I supposed to be normal now? She had to come up with a plan to reverse the damage within the next minute, or Madoka would assume that she had no valid response to her concerns and continue fawning over her until either the end of time or Madoka stuck around so much that she was discovered for the demon she really was. A light bulb went off as gears turned, and Homura decided to just use her present situation as an excuse. “ I actually needed to do a lot of exercise to get stronger, and I’m fine doing whatever I do now.” Homura had no idea if any of what she just pulled out of her skirt was medically correct, but she exhaled relief in not having to completely lie. Even though her time as a magical girl was perilous and miserable, it had made her much stronger both physically and mentally. If she became human right this instant, she would be leagues stronger than she was beforehand when she could barely stand, and would probably retain the capacity to wield heavy firearms, lug cars, and jump off buildings. If only Madoka knew how little she really needed to worry about my health...she would probably be weirded out. Bad idea.

“Oh, that’s good! I wouldn’t want you endangering yourself just to excel at something.” Madoka, contented that Homura’s smarts also served the interests of her self-preservation, added without thinking, “ I would hate to lose such a cool friend…” Surprised, Madoka’s hand briefly flitted to her face and felt it heat up, but she found that she didn’t want to retract the out-of-place statement. Madoka hadn’t known Homura for very long, but she would hate for anything to happen to her, and even in the wake of Madoka’s embarrassing words visibly heating up Homura’s face, all she could really bring herself to care about was how to make the brunette comfortable instead of worrying about how she could escape her social ineptitude which had plagued her in front of the best student in the school. The pinkette resolved to hit the two birds of continuing the conversation and not letting Homura get so awkward that she clammed up and couldn’t speak anymore by offering her water. “ Say, how about we get a drink as we work? It’ll take a while, since I’m bad in linear equations…” Madoka spoke her half-truth bashfully. Why am I so awkward around her and yet keep stupidly making more excuses to stay here longer?

Homura felt her face pay homage to her name as it blazed hotly, vividly recognizing her rudeness at not having offered Madoka anything when she entered. How could I have screwed up basic hospitality so badly? I spent years total around nurses, dammit! “I-I’ll go see what I have!” She took off clumsily like a petrified critter to claw for anything she might have in her fridge to offer. The raven-haired girl flung wildly and screeched like a madwoman about to die when she realized that her fridge might as well have been the Sahara Desert instead of in an apartment in Mitakihara City for all its insidious lack of not just water, but anything. Homura berated herself as her face grew hotter and the extent of her slacking with normal living in the vain interest of sustaining her body without magic in favour of working and borderline stalking Madoka slammed into her with the weight of the mail truck that delivered her bills, and she also numbly recalled being two months behind on her water bill. Frozen in a ridiculous picture of regret for any life choices she’s ever made, Homura managed to spew half-enunciated choice words fast enough to put a radio ad salesperson to shame. I’m going to die, Madoka’s going to think I’m lame and then die of dehydration, I’m going to die again… For the love of God, please let me get a heart attack and die!

“...I don’t have anything… I’m so sorry, I guess I’m just that pathetic.” Homura whispered in the purest expression of humiliation she could muster involuntarily just loud enough for Madoka to hear from the next room. As Homura realized this was indeed possible, she immediately cursed the inherent tediousness of resetting Madoka to the past thirty seconds that made it impossible for her to do so as well as the sore lack of doors in her apartment.

Every syllable was very much audible, and Homura’s frantic shriek and harsh self deprecatory lament fell on ears that belonged to the person who most wanted to help her. Madoka startled slightly herself to have her weird and overbearing theory of awkwardness surpassed and instantly launched herself into a crisis nurse-therapist-stuffed animal-friend-mama bear state as a catapult manned and poised to barrage the unsuspecting violet-eyed student with reassurance in what was irrevocably an unhealthy state of mind. Madoka burned with the desire to sweep away the unflinching hatred the other girl had for herself, and longed to give both her and whatever had made her think so poorly of herself that simply forgetting to have something in case of a surprise stalker and homework friend that was only half intentional became a grievous offence. Homura was the most accomplished and endlessly accommodating person madoka had ever known in her short life, and if Madoka having known Homura for only a week could figure it out, then it baffled Madoka how Homura was so blind to how exceptional she was. In an unleashed outburst of determination, Madoka suddenly sprouted a spine and yelled, “ That is the most untrue thing I’ve ever heard in my life, and you’re honestly pretty amazing, and probably no one else on Earth could do what you do, and you deserve better than to think of yourself that way!” Any shyness she might have felt about yelling across half the house about the shower thoughts of someone she chanced her way into a friendship with shriveled up and ate themselves at the sight of Homura in a tiny ball on the floor with tears running each other off of her face streaming swear words almost as quickly as she radiated despair. The brunette’s watery, reddened eyes barely made contact with Madoka’s own before the ball tightened and her black hair rained down over her face, covering up half her front side. Madoka’s own pink eyes watered and she collapsed in a heap on Homura, doing her best to comfort her. It was like the brunette’s hopelessness was contagious, and Madoka soon found herself huddled in her own ball, running her hand through pitch-black hair that refused to lay flat at the end as the weight of the sobbing girl’s world imparted through a crack in her shield onto Madoka’s shoulders.

“ I’m sorry… I’ve ruined this for you, just go home and go on with your day…” 

“Absolutely not! You’re crying in a ball on the floor, apparently your fridge is empty, and your self esteem is so low that-that- how am I supposed to let you keep thinking that you suck?”

“ Exactly! I’m crying in a ball on the floor, my fridge had apparently been empty for a week, and I can’t even be useful by giving you water, because I’m behind on the water bill because apparently even the stupid Catholic orphanage gave up middlemanning my expenses and damn social services got tired of paying them! I suck!!”

“You don’t suck just because some geezers can’t do their jobs! You’re so intent on pleasing me that it hurts you that you can’t offer me water because of circumstances completely out of your control, you somehow keep your academics stellar even though the people supposed to be responsible for paying your cost of living refuse to give you a decent standard of living through sheer intelligence and force of will when I live a perfectly normal life and can’t score anything above a B, and you live completely alone and didn’t die of loneliness! If that sucks, then everyone else is garbage!” You don’t suck! I don’t think you suck!”

“W-why?” Homura’s stuttering, cracked voice went so quiet that Madoka struggled to hear her at all. 

“ Why not?” Madoka finally sat up, looking down at the ball of black hair with empathy, trying to imagine how long she had been devaluing herself so that this was such a logical conclusion for her that it came naturally at the slightest mishap. She deserves better… I’ll give her better! I refuse to let her suffer like this anymore! “ You try stupidly hard at everything! Even giving me some water! You care so much about others’ happiness, my happiness, that it upsets you to inconvenience me slightly! Even if you weren’t really smart and good at everything, that alone would make you a wonderful person! So please, don’t give up on yourself…” Madoka let her thoughts sift through the words of the girl currently eyeing her anxiously from below to come up with some way to appease her. Homura made it obvious that she didn’t believe she was anything worth caring about, and even though the pink-haired girl tried her best to comfort her, it would take a much longer time to truly help her through something so pervasive. Madoka felt something warm snake around her hand and nearly startled when she realized it was Homura’s hand weakly gripping her own, seeking some structure to balance herself. Am I really enough to do this?... Madoka’s resolve hardened. I have to try. The pinkette glanced briefly back at the hand on hers, and flashed a sympathetic smile at its owner. Her structure wouldn’t fall. Madoka would make sure of it if it was the last thing she ever did in this world. Starting with being around her more often. She needs me, truly needs me, and I’ll be there. “ Screw the lazy boomers! How would you like to stay with me, with people who give a crap?”

“Are you crazy?! There’s no way your parents will let some random girl who by the way broke down in her own kitchen to stay in their house for a day, nevermind live there!” The ball uncurled, and Homura’s incredulous face bored into Madoka’s. How can I trust myself living in her house? I’ve screwed her life up enough already! It’s just Madoka being nice anyways… even if she doesn’t get tired of dealing with me, her parents will. But Homura knew Madoka would never leave her alone, and that her parents knew to let their daughter do as she pleased when she started plowing common sense for another person, and so all of the brunette’s gratitude and nervousness bubbled up despite her better judgement anyways. “ Thank you..”

Madoka flung her arms around the other girl, her new friend and roommate now, all inhibitions sorely screamed at in the interest of not letting Homura keep treating herself like trash and also being friends and maybe snooping just a little, even though that part of her was also beaten down brutally by compassion and shame. “ Don’t think anything of it.” Madoka slowly gripped her friend and classmate by the shoulders, searching into her wide, desperate eyes. With a smile, she whispered “We’re friends now after all, aren’t we?”

“Yeah” Homura’s face lit up, and she sniffed out “ We are.”


	6. Chapter 6

Sayaka stampeded down the paved street in the downpour, clutching the note that Madoka had passed her in class that day close to her chest. Her worries raged as the storm clouds above her, and her head spun. The rain poured harder just as Sayaka was halfway home, and she stomped harder in her frustration. -Even the rain ignores me now! Might as well take longer, wallow in failure and despair!-

The blunette nursed the blasted note tight to her chest, as if strangling someone who wounded her. In a way, it had stabbed needles straight through her soul, along with her pounding headache. Sayaka had shared her fears, and Madoka had brushed her off, not even in person! The needles in her brain and her chest twisted with some sadistic glee, weaving her worst fears together. How Madoka stood the raven haired girl’s presence was puzzling to her. Madoka was never one to care about looks, so Homura being infuriatingly beautiful meant nothing, since there was no way that was the only reason Madoka put up with her, and she knew Hitomi anyways. There was no way Sayaka would believe that someone so aloof and cold, who seemed to not care about anyone at all but Madoka would be innocent in all of this, however. Sayaka knew how easily her pink-haired friend’s kindness could be manipulated, and she had no intention of letting this leech keep dragging her friend down. Her fist tightened on the note in it as she fumed harder at its contents.

Hello, Sayaka.

I know you don’t like my new friend, Homura, but I think that you going out of your way to instigate her is really childish of you. Her being quiet and needing me to start conversations most of the time isn’t really suspicious to me, and it’s definitely not an excuse to goad her. Sure, she’s been cold to you. You’ve called her rude and selfish. I love both of my friends, and I’ve known you and trusted you since we were little, but I’m not about to let you ruin my chances and hurt my new friends just because you’re jealous or because you don’t trust me enough to make my own choices and think you need to guard me like a sad sack. Please try to be nicer to Homura, and to me about this. If you really think you have a reason to act this way, tell me in private when you can actually put it into words.

Your friend,  
Madoka

Sayaka’s fist shook and her stomping turned to running as she recalled the grim expression on Madoka’s face as she passed Sayaka the note. It was more than clear to her that Homura was a drain on Madoka, nothing but a parasite taking advantage of her sweet nature, and she no matter how many times she brought it up, Madoka never seemed to believe her! Madoka would never listen to her warnings because for some reason, Sayaka couldn’t bring up what exactly Homura did, but just from looking at how much of Madoka’s thoughts Homura occupied, it was obvious! - Actually, I can tell just what’s wrong with that girl. She does nothing! Madoka puts in all this work, and all she bothers to do is go along with it! She doesn’t care about actually spending time with Madoka, she just goes along with everything and puts in no effort as an excuse to stay around her! It’s disgusting how much of Madoka’s time she takes up when she could be spending it with people who care about her!- Homura’s snootiness was so frustrating that Sayaka couldn’t stand being around her for more than five minutes without commenting on it. Of course she made a remark; it was inhuman how little that jerk’s face moved! 

-If only I could say it better, Sayaka mulled, embarrassed at how easily Homura had brushed her off and Madoka had ignored her.-

-Say what?- An ugly knot tied in the bluenette’s stomach. How I was ogling her suspiciously? How nothing Madoka said was technically wrong? The knot squeezed contempt out of her, and she suddenly found she didn’t care. Homura was creepy, and it sucked how blind Madoka was to that. It sucked that her suspicions got her brushed off when all she was trying to do was protect her friend! She just wanted to make sure no one took advantage of her! She just wanted to make her happy! She just wanted-

-Does Madoka even want to still be friends with me?  
-She’s always around this crabby Homura girl now!... Aren’t I her friend too?-   
-Am I really so far in the wrong that Madoka won’t bother to tell her to shut up with the salt? Does she even bother with me?-

Is it because I’m so selfish? Pining after her like a sack of silver? Not getting along with this girl who was rude to me once?-

Sayaka hated it. Hated Homura. Hated herself. 

Stopping straight in the rain, body and eyes going dull and slack, she wrapped arms around herself. Was she even the same person? Did the throbbing in her head and the dizzying grip of anxiety around Homura tell her she was going insane? Tears ran down her face, the only shining thing betraying her emotions. 

Sayaka almost didn’t notice when someone bowled right into her, knocking her onto the soaking wet sidewalk and the note from her now relaxed hand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! You’re soaking now!”

Blue eyes snapped to attention and focused on a girl wearing a Mitakihara Middle School uniform that she hadn’t seen before, shocked expression framed by blonde twin drills.

“ Would you like to come to my house and dry off? It’s the least I could do…”

Sayaka turned over the offer in what was left of her brain. Maybe talking to someone she wasn’t crying over would help her get her stuff straight.

“Sure, I’d love to.”


	7. Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> petition for homu weaving head canon in comments

Aching strings extended across vast, psychedelic expanses, seemingly infinite and grasping into the emptiness. Color shifted in and out of grayscale as black feathers slowly appeared scattered throughout this dimension. It was silent. Neither heat nor cold, wind or sea or land existed here. The shimmering void stretched onwards, a single figure within it weaving through the threads of time and space.

The soft sound of crackling flames and the barely-whispering echo of a distorted flute melody sprang forth from Homura’s calloused fingertips. She paid it no mind. Eyes red, burning with the many shades a magical girl’s despair could take, she focused only on her weaving. The clacking of her loom had replaced the noises her shield made, a bowstring traded for thread. Bullets no longer made patterns in the sky, but the goddess’ work was far from done. 

\- Crosses...red crosses for Kyouko. She should be at home here.-

Her cloth spread over a fair bit of the landscape, the minds of every living being within her labyrinth knotted into consciousness. The world in which they lived had yet to be stitched, but that would come later. Now the carefully crafted embellishments of the four former magical girls’ souls would slowly fall into place, and Homura wouldn’t rest until they were finished.

\- Everyone here-. Dark eyes glassed over with the broken shards of Soul Gems scanned her tapestry. Slowly, she wormed new thread in with it. - They are here, for a little while. Their lives are as normal as their person allowed it. Here they are.-

The demon set down her work for a second, anticipating the city she had mapped out countless times before it was weaved anew. Her listless haze drifted like one of her lost feathers, towards where every day’s tapestry had been neatly displayed before entropy made frayed thread of her just as long hours of labor.

-Here I am.-  
\- When was the last time I haven’t been weaving someone’s life away?-

Her loom waned like the crescent moon, and Homura subconsciously counted the seconds she had to pick it back up before the sands of time swept it away like the others. The sound of her shield turning back before her watering eyes drowned the fire that made her own Soul Gem echoed deep inside her skull. As her hair fell over her eyes, the demon’s view clenched onto it, praying to look at anything except the eye-piercing colors around her, or the washed-away grieving threads she wished she could make brighter, more convincing, more real. If only she wasn’t so dulled down, then maybe she could see things that weren’t black-and-white failure.

-My hair was once the only valuable part of me. If someone had suggested I cut it, I would have cried.-

Chained to their toil, her eyes dragged back towards the discarded loom, bony hands clutching the woven cloth just before it began to fade into reality. 

-My hair is here now. -

The clicking of blanched wood began to whisper through once more. Homura’s head swung downwards so that her tears wouldn’t quench the dull fire within her hands.

She did not notice a midnight purple one fall into Earth when her tapestry was hung, and dredged back to her house, body limp, eyes lifeless, dead on the floor.


	8. Part 8

Red hair darted in and out of alleyways, whichever poor ATM machine and security cameras monitoring them that were next smashed to smithereens. She stuffed wads of cash in her jacket pocket, and ran to the next alleyway. She was just about to raid another pitifully guarded machine when it started to pour.

-I didn’t think these fat cats would start crying this soon.- A catlike smirk threaded its way across Kyouko’s face. -Guess I better beat it back to that hotel room-

Sprinting to avoid getting wet, the redhead sped under tall, dirty buildings as mud quickly ran down the roads. Somehow, only a couple drops of water stained her jacket, despite the torrential downpour that soon cascaded down from washed out gray clouds. The bills of whoever had the most money in their account padded the girl’s waist, and the minute she reached her stolen hotel room, she tossed it on the wood table to check later. The television had been left on; a newsreel was currently playing, relaying whichever events of this week would snag the most views.

Kyouko grabbed a bag of chips, flopped on the bed, and halfheartedly watched the blonde news anchor drabble on about some pole vaulting championship. Apparently, some girl from Mitakihara had obliterated the prefecture records recently. Bored, she stared out the window of the city scrubbed of colour or light by the clouds, which were now drizzling steadily. She felt something within herself burn briefly and startled, only for it to die away soon after. 

-The hell?!.. AT LEAST IT”S INTERESTING!!!!!-

The redhead’s anger spread like wildfire. Nothing ever happened anymore! -What’s even going on with me?! One second, I’m out on the streets barely eating, and the next my life is stupidly easy?! What is this?! ..god this isn’t funny anymore stop it I shouldn’t be in paradise-

Enough. Kyouko chopped that thought off at the knees. -Whatever’s messing with me’s gonna pay. I don’t know what’s happening but I refuse to let my own sin drive me as crazy as hi-

-Chop that thought off at the kneeeeeeeess.-

Even smashing her pain -rage- down, Kyouko trodded slowly enough to catch the next breaking news story. A desaturated clip of a girl who couldn’t possibly be older than fourteen splayed out on her apartment floor, found where her social services agent had seen her. The blood had drained from her skin, dull gray eyes and blue lips freezing Kyouko’s composure. Her black hair randomly pooling under her head made her look like she hadn’t expected to fall.

Like she was murdered. 

Kyouko quickly slammed the door and dashed out the back entrance.  
She didn’t like to hear about murdered little girls.


End file.
